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TWENTY-TWO

T he dream was just a dream, a reflection of what I’d been fussing over during the day.

In retrospect, it was nothing more than one big cliché, and, to tell the truth, I’m kind of embarrassed my subconscious couldn’t come up with something more imaginative.

And thinking Berthe answered my claim of success by shaking her head at me…

I mean, really? It was the middle of the night, and I was, more likely than not, still dreaming.

Not to mention I wasn’t wearing my glasses.

Still, yet another reason to get her out of my apartment.

I find myself obsessing about the whole sole-survivorship bit.

I know the events were real, and that Party was present when all three occurred.

But this says nothing about how she was able to avoid destruction—at least in the case of the fire—and how she managed to get out safely when nothing else did.

Right, she didn’t do anything; she’s a painting, not a person.

Still, I can’t leave it be. Which, unless I’m willing to shell out more money for Nova to investigate, means if I want answers, the onus is on me.

I start with the most recent, the Columbia Museum, figuring that as the fire happened less than a month ago and is currently being investigated as a crime scene, the details will be easier to uncover than those farther back.

I go online and read everything I can about the fire, most of which focuses on the possibility of an anti-Semitic attack.

The investigators talked to the witnesses—of which there were few—studied the burn patterns, and sent samples to a lab to search for accelerants, but there’s still no definitive conclusion.

I try to contact Randi, the curator who helped me with the Party transactions.

But when I do, I’m told she’s no longer with the museum.

I hope she wasn’t fired, as she was devoted to a job she believed was a moral necessity—although, frankly, she was kind of a pain in the ass.

I ask if there’s anyone still on staff who worked with her in the Holocaust wing.

The person on the other end of the phone puts me on hold, where I listen to elevator music for at least five minutes before I’m transferred to some guy named Steve, who’s in charge of security.

“This is an ongoing investigation, so I’m not at liberty to give out any information,” he informs me.

“I’m not looking for information on the fire. I’m looking for information on the painting that wasn’t destroyed, Party on the Seine . It belongs to me.”

“Everything in the wing was destroyed. Nothing’s there anymore.”

“You must have an inventory of the museum’s holdings. Could you please look it up for me?”

“That’s part of the investigation too. And there’s no point anyways. Your painting isn’t here.”

“Okay, but what I’m wondering about is where she—the painting, I mean, Party on the Seine by édouard Manet—was hung in the wing. I was told it escaped damage when no other paintings did.”

“Look, I told you before that I can’t give out any information, and I don’t know anything about your painting. So, like I also said before, there’s nothing I can do to help you.”

So much for any clarity on SOLE SURVIVOR, EPISODE THREE.

From: Damien Manet, Director of the édouard Manet Foundation

To: Tamara Rubin

Cc: Wyatt Butler, Beacon, Exeter & Associates

Re: Party on the Seine

Date: 11 January

I have been informed that Party on the Seine came extraordinarily close to being consumed by fire and destroyed.

This is further proof of your poor stewardship, and I once again demand that the painting be immediately sent to Paris, where the Manet Foundation will be able to protect it.

We have offered to purchase it from you for $10 million in US currency, and given the danger you pose to this masterpiece, we are willing to offer $12 million in order to ensure it is properly cared for.

Now that Party on the Seine has been returned to your environmentally unsafe and unsecure apartment, swift action is even more crucial.

As such, we have arranged for transport, and a truck will be arriving at Tremont245 between nine and ten tomorrow morning.

This transfer will still allow the Louvre the time necessary to prepare the painting for the édouard Manet retrospective and void the lawsuit against you.

Please send wiring instructions for $12 million to be deposited in your bank of choice.

He has some points, but if Mr. Manet thinks I’m going to wax all apologetic and jump at his two million additional dollars, another think is in order.

Wyatt offers to respond to him, and although Damien would most likely be more impressed with a lawyer’s words than mine, this is personal, and a personal rejoinder is called for.

Wyatt doesn’t agree but eventually gives in, with the stipulation that he has veto power over the content.

I tell him he will, but I don’t mean it. Luckily, he has no objections.

From: Tamara Rubin

To: Damien Manet, Director of the Edouard Manet Foundation

Cc: Wyatt Butler, Beacon, Exeter & Associates

Re: Party on the Seine

Date: 1/11

It is an unfathomable tragedy that the fire at the Columbia Museum destroyed so many priceless works of art, particularly given their origin, and I mourn their loss along with you.

On the other hand, it is indeed fortunate that my painting, Party on the Seine , was spared.

I am looking at it right now, and it’s with great pleasure that I tell you it is undamaged.

Unfortunately, that is all the good news I have to share.

Party on the Seine will not be available to participate in the retrospective, a decision which, as you are well aware, is always at the owner’s discretion.

Your offer of $12 million for a painting worth more than ten times that amount is summarily rejected.

And as before, your transporters will not be allowed access to Tremont245 tomorrow or on any other day.

It is also important for you to understand you are not in a position to demand anything of me.

A cease-and-desist letter will be forthcoming from my attorney if this behavior continues.

THERE’S NO IMMEDIATE response from my darling cousin, and although Wyatt and I are grateful for the pause, we doubt this will be Damien’s last communication.

Given the reprieve, I should be attacking the piles on my desk or finding another museum for Party , but I return to my survivor search the next day.

This time, I take up the Manaus Museum in the capital of the Amazonas state in Brazil.

Home to SOLE SURVIVOR, EPISODE TWO. The earthquake happened two years ago, and although earthquakes are rare there, this one was a biggie: People died.

People got hurt. Buildings collapsed. The Manaus Museum was one of them.

I know Party was never shown, that it went straight into basement storage from the salt mine, and that no one even knew it was there, hence the lost-masterpiece theory.

There are a large number of photos and articles online about the quake, but most of the written information is in Portuguese.

Which isn’t a problem, as I don’t need to understand the language to figure out that the museum was completely leveled and the rubble has been razed.

That whole picture-worth-a-thousand-words thing.

This is getting way too frustrating, and I kind of wish Wyatt were around to distract me.

But he’s on a big trial in Oklahoma City, and it’s taking more than the five days he predicted.

I’m glad for the alone time, as his omnipresence is starting to wear on me—a tad overzealous for a passing fling—but I could use a diversion.

My friend Holly, who was the one who recommended Wyatt, has grown disgruntled by all the time I’m spending with him, which is cutting into our gal-pal fun.

Fortunately, she’s still happy to have dinner with me.

I don’t mention that Wyatt is out of town.

Our usually lively repartee lags, as Holly has zero interest in my explorations into the sole survivorships, and I’m not about to say anything else about Berthe or Party , my two current preoccupations.

I explain that I’m exhausted from work, which isn’t a lie, but stay with her in the restaurant for the after-dinner drinks she likes so much.

When Wyatt calls, I can see she’s pissed that I take it.

I don’t react with my usual When Harry Met Sally fake moans when he suggests some phone sex and explain I’m at dinner with Holly so I can’t talk.

He ignores this and tells me Nova received the translation of édouard’s will and that, as expected, it’s pretty much incontestable.

The twist is that Manet didn’t leave anything directly to Léon.

He left his estate to his wife, Suzanne, with the stipulation that she pass it on to Léon.

At first this seems auspicious, but I quickly realize it doesn’t change anything.

“It’s going to be okay, Tam,” Wyatt tries to reassure me. “We knew everything was left to Léon. It’s always been about how Colette got the painting, and Nova’s on the job.”

“Sure,” I say. “Right. We can discuss everything later.”

“Everything?” he asks with a deep NPR-host voice.

“Bye.” I try to suppress my smile and focus on carefully putting my phone back in my purse.

“Somebody’s besotted,” Holly says, practically rolling her eyes.

“He’s a child,” I tell her dismissively. “The perfect definition of a boy toy.”

I GRAB A few hours the next day to check out SOLE SURVIVOR, EPISODE ONE.

After coming up empty on both two and three, I don’t have a whole lot of confidence that this effort will go any better.

But if there’s one thing that’s helped me get where I am, it’s perseverance.

Along with my father’s repeated advice—ad nauseam, actually—to always finish what I start.